Dreams of A Vague Reality
by DatAssRomano
Summary: Sometimes we remember things we're not supposed to. Sometimes we open doors we're not meant to. Sometimes, as with Gilbert, Lovino, Matthew and Francis, the door is opened for us...and then it all goes to hell. ((Bad things. Very bad things. Eventual PruCan & Framano))
1. Chapter 1

**# Dreams of A Vague Reality 01 #**

**The horror genre is my favourite. :D And after reading the first two chapters of House of Flies by crackberries I couldn't help myself and I had to get this idea on paper/webpage. I know I'm not up to her standard...but...I tried. Crackberries, you are my favourite fanfiction author and a terrible influence. **

**You're awesome! XD I love you!**

**Fangirling aside, Prussia's character song for this was 'Bring Me To Life' by Evanescence.**

### ####

_Blood. _

_Too much blood. _

_Leaking out the polished floorboards, splattering up the walls in messy splashes, even on the high ceiling there were streaks of it. The dark red liquid stained, stained everything in its' path, leaving destruction and fear in its' wake. There was nothing but the blood, enveloping everything in its' tight grasp. It was a dreadful kind of beauty, something purely destructive, but somehow eye-catching nonetheless. It drew out the memory of those screams, long since died out, but somehow echoing in the mind as one regarded the blood. It was strange, how the blood seemed to envelop everything in its grasp, like a hungry behemoth._

_Well, everything but the young man standing in the blood, feeling a few drops drip down his angular face as he stood, casting his unreadable gaze over the mutilated bodies in front of him. The white of his hair was almost invisible in the bloody candlelight, even though in more...normal (for lack of a better word) circumstances it would stand out quite brightly in a crowd, or anywhere really._

_At a short, disinterested glance from some random passersby, he looked passive, normal somehow even with his shock of messy hair and pale skin. Even the clothes weren't really that bad, a little punk-looking with the knee-high black boots and faded jeans, with a logo of some obscure band on the shirt that no one really knew anymore because everyone listened to that pop bullshit (don't even try to deny it's bullshit). He looked like your everyday young adult punk, someone who probably didn't have a job but wasn't bitter about it, instead choosing to live it up. He seemed like quite the party animal, as one expected someone of his looks to be like. This was, however, completely stereotypical._

_But then you'd see it. _

_That smirk._

_And somehow it'd make your stomach drop down to your pants and you'd realise you've shit yourself, because that smirk was terrifying, to be blatantly honest. There was something so violently wrong with it, so frighteningly _insane_. There was no other word for it, seeing that man standing in the torn innards of what may have once been real, living people, his boots annihilating the scraps of what looked like innards. And he wasn't bothered by it in the slightest. In fact, he enjoyed it. He lived for these moments of high elation when he saw the last slice of light disappear from someone's eyes. _

_It was a world where there was nothing but darkness and violence._

_It was _his_ world._

_Only his._

_And it was _awesome_._

_The man let out a snickering laugh, the sound more of a hiss, letting it bubble out, the sound getting louder as he tossed the two bloodied revolvers into the puddle of shattered bone and unimaginable gore. The room he stood in, strangely enough, had a huge storage of weapons littered everywhere, from a simple sword to the more barbaric garden shears. One of the guns the man had been holding skidded, staining the dark boards further as it neared the ajar door. His once normal, now crazed eyes, as red as the blood, fixed onto the figure in the doorway as they stepped closer. They couldn't do that without paying the price for invading his space. This was his area, his kingdom where he was god and no one could stop his divine judgement. He'd kill them too, shatter them into a million pieces until they were as warped as he was-_

"Gilbert! Vee~ I have the mail for you!"

The bubbly brunette who had spoken to him pranced over, his eyes closed in a blissful expression. Gilbert groaned from where he was standing in the brightly lit kitchen, slamming his forehead down on the sparklingly clean wooden bench. Feliciano didn't heed the unspoken plea for help, as he sat the small pile of papers down next to Gilbert's aching head. "I'll do dinner, Gilly, and you read the mail," he ordered, which wasn't that surprising because Gilbert was _terrible_ at cooking anything and everything, and the Italian was a master.

The master of pasta.

Heheh.

Gilbert grabbed the mail on the way out of the kitchen, whistling the Final Fantasy theme as he flicked through the mail, picking out the advertisements and leaving the actual mail on the dining table. He made his way down to the basement, where he lived (astonishingly). Maybe he could catch a nap while dinner was being cooked.

"Bruder, bist du da...?"

Gilbert blinked up at Ludwig as the younger German waved a hand in front of his face, the younger trying not to look concerned. The Prussian (self-titled, but Germans weren't that awesome anyway) leaned back into the moth-eaten beige couch he was lounging on, regarding the blonde with faintly interested dark red eyes. He'd been thinking about something (something important? Or was it a dream that was bothering him?) but then Ludwig had snapped him out of it. Obviously it hadn't been that important, then, if he'd forgotten it like that. Somehow it unsettled him, though, as though there was something bad, something that wasn't supposed to be forgotten. Gilbert's old, beaten-up radio was playing in the background, some kind of goth song, maybe Evanescence. He hummed along to the chorus as it played, tilting his head to the side. Then he realised his brother was still waiting for some kind of sign of recognition and sighed a little, a familiar grin on his face.

"What is it, West?"

"You've been staring into space for a while. I was beginning to worry."

"Kesese, you're going soft!"

He poked his brother in the stomach teasingly, grinning up at the stern-looking face until he saw Ludwig relax a little. Good, good. He didn't want the man worrying as well when he already did all the work and paid the bills as well while his deadbeat brother lurked in the basement. It killed Gilbert a little, being so useless all the time. He was the older one, shouldn't _he_ be looking after Ludwig? But he was going for a job interview today, so maybe it was over. Who knew? This place he'd applied for didn't seem like it needed any qualifications, so maybe, just maybe, he'd be able to get it. It had mentioned multiple positions so there was no worry about someone stealing it from him. And the interview was late-ish at night. Nine thirty was a pretty sweet time to work.

Speaking of...

"Hey West, what time is it?"

Ludwig turned, his worry apparently gone now he had confirmed Gilbert was still alive. Why he had worried in the first place was beyond Gilbert; he was far too awesome to just die while thinking or something stupid like that. The Prussian glanced at the blank widescreen TV, wondering if he had time to watch King of The Nerds before he had to go. The interview was quite late, after all. He looked back over at his brother as the blonde picked up a stray sock and tossed it at the washing basket as he strode away purposefully, finally answering the question he'd been asked.

"Ten o'clock, oh, and I fed your vogelchen at lunchtime, so don't worry."

Oh, good. Gilbird was fed; he felt slightly relieved. His sleeping out his hangovers mostly didn't work out that well for his little canary friend, who would usually have to suffer out the starvation until he deigned to rise from the dream world once again.

Ten...?

"In the morning?"

"Nein. You slept the entire day."

"Scheiße-"

"Mr. Beilschmidt, it's okay! Only two other applicants are here, and we wanted four spots. There is no need for that language, I promise. You are a valued applicant, and we would not dream of writing you off already simply because you are half an hour late."

Gilbert felt a shot of relief spread through his veins as he bent over, trying to catch his breath. He'd run the entire way, not even sure if he was going the right way. Thankfully, the name of the company was on the front of the building, even if it was down a creepy-ass alleyway and all. He let out a huff and stood up straight again, feeling a grin creep across his face. Thank goodness, he had been about to get on his knees and cry about the unawesomeness of the situation. Maybe he'd actually get lucky for once.

Heh.

Get lucky.

"Ja! So, what now?"

"Well, you filled out the form we sent you online, so technically you're already hired. Congratulations, Mr. Beilschmidt."

"Woo!"

He waved his hands in a strange interpretation of a dance of success, making the secretary giggle a little, as she stood from behind her desk and brushed her clothes off. A small smile remained on her face as she tilted her head back at him, one manicured hand on a doorknob to a door without a label. He stopped dancing and hung up his snow-covered coat on a nearby rack, turning back to her and stepping up to the door, wondering what the other two would be like. Also, didn't she say there were four spots? Was the fourth person late too?

The woman glanced back at him, her smile making him nervous for some reason. He shifted slightly under her gaze, looking down at his scuffed black boots. He hoped this was as good a deal as it had sounded when the advertisement had landed in the mailbox. Speaking of, if it was such a good deal why had only the exact number of people they wanted applied? Something here didn't feel quite right.

"Shall we, Mr. Beilschmidt...?"

"Was? Oh, of course. Ja."

And the door was opened. It wasn't until later Gilbert realised he should've left it shut, should've run with all his might, because there are some demons that should never be uncovered. And those demons rather liked watching your pain, in fact they loved it with a stained loyalty. And they began watching the young Prussian man at that moment, mulling over what might happen next.

### ####

**Translations-**

**Bruder, bist du da?- brother, are you there? (German)**

**Vogelchen- birdie/bird (German)**

**Nein- no (German)**

**Scheiße- shit (German)**

**Ja- yes (German)**

**Was- what (German)**

**Names;**

**Gilbert Beilschmidt- Prussia**

**Feliciano Vargas- N. Italy**

**Ludwig Beilschmidt- Germany**


	2. Chapter 2

**# Dreams of A Vague Reality 02 #**

**Second chapter! The first three/four chapters will be relatively short; because they're introducing the characters. Originally they were all going to have the same feel as Prussia's, but that would've gotten boring. So they're all different.**

### ####

"_**And in the end**_

_**I guess I had to fall**_

_**Always find my place among the ashes,"**_

_**Lithium- Evanescence**_

_"So...the 'products' you promised me, they are...a month late, si?"_

_The man's eyes were wide, fearful, the whites of then a sharp contrast against the sickly and disgusting yellow-grey of his marked skin. If one looked closely you could see how horribly skinny the man was, like he hadn't seen the sunny side of an egg for years. His clothes were ragged and he looked, frankly, like a homeless bum. Maybe he _was_ homeless. It's not like it would come as a surprise. _

_But it wasn't like anyone in this dark place cared about what his residential state was. The room was large, luxurious, and the smell of cigars and illicit substances filled the air to an almost choking degree. _

_It was a good thing the people residing here either were addicts or were simply used to the smell._

_"I-I'll bring it to you soon, I p-promise!"_

_Cold, disinterested eyes, a colour that was neither green nor gold but a chaotic mix fixed on the dishevelled man. In a sharp contrast to the man on the floor, the one he was bowing down to looked bored, almost like royalty on the fancy chair he resided upon. A scowl was permanently stuck onto his rather pretty face, and he would've been quite attractive if it wasn't for the fact of where and what he was. Dark glasses were perched on a set of silky brown hair, with one strand making a peculiar curling shape. He was quite thin, but not awfully so, and his frame was covered by a black suit, without even a speck of white to keep the darkness at bay. _

_"It's already a month late, bastardo. Do you really think you're going to be able to bribe your way out of this?"_

_"I-I'll go now and f-find more, sir! P-por favor!"_

_A snort made the sickly-looking man flinch away, looking confused. The brunette waved to a guard, and a bang resounded through the building as a scream of pain was ripped out. The rest of the room was silent as it went on, and then the man gestured again and it was cut off with a choked whimper. _

_The Italian stood, a huff escaping him as he stepped forward to kick the body hard, hearing a sickening squish against his boot. He wrinkled his nose at it before turning away. _

_"Find me a new supplier. Or you all die as well."_

_There was a silence as he stalked away, still scowling. He'd drag as many people down as he needed to, the whole damn mafia, just to make examples of his control again. He didn't give a shit about lives; they were useless unless they served him some ultimate purpose. He'd kill them all to satisfy himself. That was simply who he was._

_A twisted smile crossed his lips for a split second._

_And they never did serve him for long._

"Would you like anything else, sir?"

"...no, that's fine, bella. Grazie."

Lovino Vargas felt an unsettled feeling in his stomach as he glanced up at the secretary from his phone. He took a sip of the coffee he had been given, and smiled evenly at her as she turned away and walked back down the hall, her heels making a slightly irritating clicking noise.

He sighed and rested his chin in one hand, wondering why he felt nauseous yet again. It had been happening on and off lately, and he had no idea why. The coffee was hot, and it made a pleasant burn down his throat as he swallowed.

He couldn't _believe_ he'd been suckered into this.

"You might make some friends, Lovi! They said there were four applicants, maybe you won't beat up at least one of them," the Italian muttered in a slightly mocking tone. Antonio needed to keep his nose out of other people's businesses. Lovino didn't need the money; he was well off seen as his grandfather had left behind a fortune and a mansion that he and his brother had inherited. He didn't even need to work.

And yet he was still here, on his best friend (and old babysitter)'s orders. Normally he would've just ignored the Spaniard off of the bat, but he had been promised fresh pasta with tomatoes from Antonio's garden, and he figured he'd be able to put up with three other people for the promise of food.

It was that damn tomato bastard's fault.

"I'll strangle him when I get home," came the dark mutter as he checked his text messages, crossing his legs loosely on the uncomfortable plastic chair he was sitting in. He was never, ever showing up on time for an interview again. Scratch that, he was never going to another interview full stop. He was bored, and he wanted this over with. The golden-green gaze flickered over the lit screen. One new message.

**Sent at 9:34pm**

**Tomato Bastard; Loviiii are u there? :3**

** ; No. I went to the amusement park.**

**Tomato Bastard; awwww Lovi why wasn't I invited?**

** ; Sarcasm, bastard. Jesus fucking Christ.**

**Tomato Bastard; meanie. why did u change my messenger name?**

** ; Because you're a bastard. **

**Tomato Bastard; meanie. :'(**

** ; You keep saying that but I still don't care.**

**Tomato Bastard; r u having fun?**

** ; No. No one's even showed up yet.**

**Tomato Bastard; didn't the thing start at 930 tho? it's 945 now.**

** ; You think I don't know that? **

**Tomato Bastard; eh...there's no one there? at all? :/ weird. they said there were four people applying.**

** ; Well there's the secretary but-**

As he looked up again he realised with a chill that there _was_ someone else in the room, sitting across from him. Lovino froze in his seat, wide-eyed in his shock. How fucking long had they been there?!

Holy shit.

He glanced back down at the screen of his phone, trying desperately to pretend like he wasn't staring. It wasn't like he cared, he was just...surprised. How could someone have been so damn quiet?

The blonde was reading something, probably a magazine. It had a picture of a hockey player on it, which he didn't particularly care for. His eyes were hidden behind glasses, the light reflecting off of them to hide his expression. He seemed pretty normal, what with the elephant-sized red hoodie and the faded skinny jeans. Was he American...? He looked like he might be. Lovino scowled. Americans were damn annoying. He wasn't dealing with him if the blonde was as annoying as that Alfred guy he'd met a while back. Actually, come to think of it, this guy kind of looked like Alfred...were they related? He shifted in his seat, wanting to say something to the other man but not finding the words to break the ice.

"Mr Beilschmidt, it's fine!"

Both Lovino and his Alfred doppelganger looked towards the door as a loud, annoying voice rang through. Lovino narrowed his eyes. It was fucking ten at night, who was so obnoxious they'd make a racket like that at this time? It was stupid, but he could see an amused little smile on the blonde's face. He seemed quite curious as well as to who this incredibly irritating (already? Yes.) person was.

As the door swung open he first saw the receptionist, a strange sort of smile on her face that sent a chill down his spine. It was that kind of feeling that something was terribly, terribly wrong even though you knew that rationally everything was fine. It was the type of uncertainty associated with the unknown, and Lovino felt his scowl dissolve into something that was more of a bothered frown. His gaze slipped away from the secretary and glanced at the blonde again, who didn't seem bothered at all. Was he seriously the only one that felt _that_?

"Well, this is everyone for today. Our last applicant, a Mr...Bonnefoy, couldn't make it today, and as such we'll only be going through the basics today," the woman said as she sat on a chair in front of them and folded her hands neatly.

Couldn't make it? This was a job interview, wasn't it? Was it even possible to do that? Lovino's eyes flickered to the man sitting down beside the blonde, grinning at him, and felt his frown deepen. Even though the albino seemed friendly, it looked like he was nervous about something. Almost like he felt that...darkness...as well. Or maybe he was just worried because he was _half a fucking hour late_. Lovino huffed and turned his attention to the woman, turning off his phone and ignoring the buzz in his pocket from texts he was getting. It was probably Antonio again.

"Um...excuse me?"

The attention in the room turned to the blonde, who looked down at his hands with a faint blush on his expression. "Eh...what exactly are we doing? It wasn't exactly clear on the advertisement," he said finally, his voice nearly inaudible. Lovino raised an eyebrow. Actually, he'd been worried about that too. Why had he been roped into this when they didn't even specify what they wanted from him?

"Well...you're here to test a few things for us," the woman replied.

"Like what?" Lovino interjected.

"You'll have to ask my boss that, I'm afraid. I wasn't disclosed that information."

"What do you mean?! So we're supposed to just show up without knowing what we're actually doing?!"

"...basically, yes."

"And how do you expect me to agree to that? Ma che sei scemo?! "

"Yes. I'm sorry to tell you this, Mr. Vargas, but you've already been accepted. If you truly want to resign, the paperwork will be...quite large, I'm afraid."

What Lovino didn't realise- and what the secretary _knew_- is that the fate of the three men gathered, and the fourth as well, had already been decided. The path had already been paved and was now concrete. The moment they'd picked up that piece of paper the road of their lives had been bent, and now there was absolutely no turning back. The sinking feeling in Lovino's gut was building, and at a glance to the albino he also looked bothered, while the blonde next to him had already faded from his attention.

The dice had been rolled.

### ####

**Translations;**

**Si- Yes (Italian)**

**Bastardo- Bastard (Italian)**

**Bella- Beautiful (Italian)**

**Grazie- Thank you (Italian)**

**Ma che sei scemo- What are you, nuts?! (Italian)**

**Names;**

**Lovino Vargas- S. Italy/Romano**

**Antonio Fernandez Carriedo- Spain**

**Alfred F. Jones- America**


	3. Chapter 3

**# Dreams Of A Vague Reality 03 #**

**I had this all written up, AND THEN IT FUCKING DELETED THE WHOLE DOCUMENT. WHOEVER MADE THIS APP IS GOING TO DIE. WHOEVER MADE THIS KEYBOARD IS GOING TO DIE. I SWEAR TO GOD, SO FUCKING DEAD-**

***ahem***

### ####

"_**They've come to get me again,**_

_**The cloud is over my head,**_

_**My polyamorous friend, **_

_**He got me in a mess of trouble again,"**_

_**Polyamorous- Breaking Benjamin**_

The night air was refreshing, cool. It was always nice in this city at night; the lights shining in the comfortable darkness of the place, like a photograph one might take of a stereotypical city night life. It was picturesque, to come up with simply one word for the sight. Even the sirens in the background were something that had always been around, and would only startle ones who were unused to this type of thing. It simply was part of life, the chaos that was there but never quite seemed to reach anyone but the extraordinarily vulnerable. And the vulnerable never ended up in places like this anyway.

Except for the most extenuating circumstances.

Matthew took a breath and let a wry smile cross his face as his ears picked up the still-going commotion on the inside of the building. The 'Mr. Vargas' who had seemed in another world when he'd tried to start a conversation between them was still upset about his sudden recruitment. He'd seemed distracted at the time, when Matthew had asked him why he had turned up at this strange building, but maybe he was always like that. Matthew knew there were people around who acted like their brains had been dropped out of their heads as children.

Like Heracles, a man he worked with sometimes. The Greek was a genius, but he got easily distracted and things tended to turn out badly whenever he managed to sight a cat or Sadik Anan, his competitor (who Matthew also suspected he was sleeping with). But Matthew didn't really feel interested about that.

What Matthew _was_ interested in was a certain albino man.

Make that a hot punk albino man.

He turned his gaze to the side, where Gilbert was stretching, clearly happy to be out of the slightly confined room. Unfortunately, as he stretched, his Slipknot t-shirt lifted to reveal a nicely-toned stomach and the edge of dark red boxers, the same colour as the man's eyes. Matthew felt his face redden and he looked away quickly, before the other could notice his rather blatant staring.

Merde, that would have been embarrassing! But he certainly did have a nice body, with muscles but not so much as to be one of those horribly muscled German men with the blonde hair and the blue eyes. No, he was quite perfect as he was, Matthew decided.

"...which way do you walk?"

Matthew realised with a start that the sex god _himself_ was actually talking to him, addressing him, and struggled to come up with a coherent answer that didn't involve 'ohmygodyou'resohotlet'sfuckrighthererightnow' or anything along that line of speech.

In the end he settled with pointing in the general direction of the university he was studying. He was staying in a dorm room, mostly so he didn't have to stay with his parents any longer, and it was heaven. No more of his twin brother stealing his beautiful maple flavoured icecream, no more of having to deal with being the perfect child. His parents barely paid any attention to him because of how normal he was; it was like he was invisible.

"That way."

"Me too! That's good, we can chat...Birdie."

Birdie? What the heck kind of a nickname was that for someone you've just met? Did he look like some kind of bird to people...? The baffled look on his face must have been incredibly funny to the other, judging by his reaction. Gilbert's grin widened and shockingly, he slung an arm around the only slightly shorter Canadian. Matthew pushed aside his blush, even though he knew it was visible still, and hoped he didn't look like a tomato, like the brunette man inside had. How could someone literally go so red they looked like a fruit?

Completely confusing mindset away, Matthew did try to keep up a conversation with Gilbert as they walked along the streets, and the other seemed quite willing to do enough talking for both sides anyway. Luckily, the shy Canadian did manage to pick up some strings of information from the other's constant blathering, which was quite amazing looking at the rate he was talking.

His accent was odd, quite heavily German (even though the other was insistent it was _Prussian_, dammit) and it was pleasant to listen to. Matthew was quite happy to just simply let him talk away, as he learnt about Gilbert's stuffy grandfather, who had left him to look after his brother who sounded like _he_ was taking care of Gilbert, he learnt about the basement Gilbert lurked in, he learnt about _Slipknot_, a band from the nineties.

"Well, this is where we part, Birdie!"

"...eh?"

That damn nickname. Matthew opened his mouth to say his farewell, but was immediately stopped by a single pale finger as Gilbert rummaged in his pocket with his other hand, pulling out a scrap of paper and _somehow_ managing to write on it. Eventually he dropped the pen he was using and had to bend down to pick it up, leaving Matthew wondering why when sex gods had piercings in their lips it was damn attractive. Gilbert straightened again and grinned at him, slipping the piece of paper into the Canadian's hoodie pocket and waving mockingly before crossing the street.

"...eh?"

He repeated himself as he watched the other disappear into the traffic with wide eyes. Matthew wondered if his brain had been short-circuited, as he blinked and tried to regain some semblance of cognitive ability. He stood on the corner of the street, cars racing past him as if they were fleeing something frightening. One might have even crashed near him. Matthew was oblivious to all of this, however. Because he could've _sworn_...

That Gilbert Beilschmidt had just given him his number.

### ####

The next few days were spent in a dreamy daze, which didn't go down well with his university lecturers, or it wouldn't have if they'd even _noticed_ his complete inattention to everything. Even if he failed, no one really cared anyway. He was practically invisible.

So, as such, Matthew Williams became what was known as a 'space-case', being often unresponsive to others and failing to hand in work. He got away with it somehow, due to some remarkable kind of luck...or otherwise. No one really knew for sure, but it was almost supernatural, how he was unnoticed as a nerd and unnoticed as a distracted rebel.

If by some miracle he was asked about his behaviour, his mind would immediately slip to Gilbert and he'd get embarrassed, confirming the rumours about him being seen with a punk. Some people were even assuming they were dating, and the wildest rumours involved marriage and sex in the street. It was preposterous, some of these ridiculous rumours.

But really, in a dark corner of his mind, somewhere unseen by all, he knew that wasn't what was bothering him at all. Something had been tipped off of balance in the world, and it was slowly falling. It was still a long way until it hit the ground and burned, but the minor disturbance of the trip was the simple beginning.

### ####

"Hey, Mattie!"

"...mm?"

"What's this?"

Matthew turned unfocused-looking violet eyes from the open window to his brother, who was currently sprawled out on his bed, and the Canadian was once again thankful that his roommate was out of the country. The boy had a tendency to kick Alfred's ass for the smallest things whenever he was around.

Alfred grinned at him, waving a _very_ familiar piece of crumpled paper, and once again he was struck by how disturbing it was that they looked so alike, because that predatory expression was something he would never wear. It unsettled him; how similar they were in appearance, and yet polar opposites when it came to personality. And, most likely, taste in women- or men, in Matthew's case.

"This your girl's number, bro?"

"I- er..."

"She's got some hella bad handwriting. She hot?"

Matthew's eye twitched. He hadn't told his brother about his preferences for the male gender, and he didn't plan to anytime soon. What he needed right now was bravado, and lots of it. He needed to fake it, and fake it good-

But wait, why was he even admitting to anything?! Gilbert and he weren't going out, he just had a really unhealthy crush on the older punk man that he'd seen like, once. While he frantically deliberated in the chaos of his mind, Alfred had typed the number into his own phone and slid it away while his only slightly younger brother went bright red and realised he wasn't getting away with not answering.

"Nice ass?"

"...maybe."

Alfred grinned again at the unfortunate concession. "When're you meeting her again?"

"...the place I got hired at."

"You mean that weird place I got that mail from? Epic. You move fast, little bro!"

Matthew turned back to the window, not willing to discuss his romantic situation any more with his, frankly quite nosy, brother. Even if the blonde was the reason he'd gotten the accursed job in the first place, Alfred was still a terrible hoser at the best of times and he really didn't want to deal with it.

It was snowing outside, and he found himself thinking of Gilbert's hair. When he'd looked at it inside, it hadn't been white. More of a platinum blonde. Maybe his hair was just really light, and it just appeared to be white or something. It didn't really explain his eye colour, though. Was he albino?

"Why don't you call her now?"

"I don't want to. It's just three days, Alfred."

"Oh, I get it. You're playing hard to get."

Matthew mulled with resignation that he could come up with a million things to say to Alfred, and the man would still find a way to ridicule him somehow. Therefore, he turned his attention into his own mind as he thought, still not aware of the darkness watching him, a small smirk on their face as the Canadian waved off his brother. Soon enough, he would notice.

All that happened now was to wait.

### ####

Translations;

Merde- Shit (French) ((I have this headcanon that Mattie uses French when he wants bad words))

Names;

Matthew Williams- Canada

Heracles Karpusi- Greece

Sadik Adnan- Turkey


	4. Chapter 4

**# Dreams Of A Vague Reality 04 #**

**Francis! **

**This might disturb people, but I don't want lectures about it being immoral and disturbed. This WHOLE FIC is immoral and disturbed, and if you don't like it, don't read it. I'm a sicko, deal with it. I don't think rape is funny- in fact, that's why it's on here. BECAUSE it's a serious matter.**

**Better out than in, non? :D**

### ####

"The secret side side of me,

I never let you see,

I keep it caged but I can't control it,"

Skillet- Monster

_"Pl-ah!-please, stop, I don't want this!"_

_The young woman's voice was loud, gasping, desperate, as she tried to struggle against the bonds holding her curved frame to the bed, which held fast. Somehow it didn't occur to her that the frantic attempts to free herself weren't working, because she continued to writhe and pull at the ropes. Sweat coated her brow, and her overly made-up eyes were wide. Frightened, like a deer in the headlights of a truck. She was rather pretty, the man observing her struggles thought absently, to the point of it almost being indecent, with the way she was dressed. Who would have thought that big brands like that would use so little cloth when making a dress? But perhaps that was how they became so rich. Still, her revealing clothes made her attractive._

_Then again, he always did pick the pretty ones. She seemed to be from a rich family, with her big brand-name clothes and fancy hairdo that was overdone for something that was supposed to be simple. The smell of expensive perfume, almost sickly sweet, filled the air around her. Not that the man himself could talk. He was quite wealthy himself, after all, he was a foreigner. It made picking up...well, 'dates' would be the proper word, but his 'victims' would beg to differ, likely._

_He ignored the broken pleas, which were being whispered like some kind of prayer, and smiled at her warmly, a charming expression on his face. He knew it was a bright and somewhat handsome smile, and the woman began smiling back nervously, likely thinking she was safe. Soon she'd learn this was very far from the case, but for now, he would let her feel secure. Dark blue eyes fixed on her sweat-coated brow, and a hungry, twisted grin slid into his face for a mere second as she closed her eyes to try and calm herself down. He licked his lips slowly, tasting her lipstick from where they had kissed earlier. There would be no more of this blatant innocence in this particular relationship. After all, he needed her for one thing, and after that she was not required to reside here any more._

_Soon she would be screaming his name. Pain, sorrow, fear, all of these emotions he would rip from her helpless body, revelling in the sharp scent of her helplessness. It was what got him off, after all. The rush, the euphoric high of taking what he wanted, of claiming everything in his name. He wanted to taste the fear, the sweat, the pain, absorb it all into his own being._

_She was his to toy with._

_They all were, after all. _

_"All mine," he whispered, the words and the darkness behind them inaudible as the woman's eyes fluttered open again._

The sun filtered in through the large window with the view of the ocean. It felt faintly nostalgic to the man that resided there; as if he had been there forever instead of a few short months. A small, vague smile drifted onto his lips with his appreciation towards the beauty. Although it was that sort of weather that was completely shithouse usually, life had taken a pleasant turn today and the sun was out, shining brightly and illuminating the small, clean office room. The man, used to sudden weather changes by now, still preferred and enjoyed these small moments of tranquil warmth, and had moved hid desk accordingly near to the clear view.

"Francis!"

The blonde man looked up from where he was writing, his neat handwriting filling the page with an elegant ease. He could have been writing a novel of brave knights and beautiful princesses, of worlds far away and royalties only dreamed of; but as it was he was filling in bills he had yet to pay. Being a popular magazine columnist didn't pay as well as he had assumed it might have. He paused in his ministrations, setting down the delicately engraved pen on his desk. Then dark blue eyes flickered into life, looking over his black-framed reading glasses at his friend standing in the open doorway and fixing the man with a curious look.

"Antonio? What are you doing here, amour?"

"Hola, Francis!"

Francis stood from the soft, fabric-lined black chair he had been perched on and moved forward to embrace the brunette beaming at him. His hug was returned with vigor, Antonio almost squeezing what life was left out of him. The Frenchman grinned at him once they had split apart again, and Antonio's beam became incredibly even brighter than before. Their combined excitement at seeing each other was almost tangible, their expressions one of children the morning of Christmas when they had sighted all of the presents under the trees.

"It's been so long!"

"Si, we should have met up sooner!"

Antonio sat down on the small couch reserved for visitors and faced Francis as he began speaking rapidly, and the blonde himself returned to the seat he had been previously occupying. It took them only a few minutes to discuss their lives, having known each other since high school they were fully aware of what the other could get up to. Mutual friends were discussed, relationships were analyzed, all within the space of a few measly moments. But Francis knew, somehow, that there was a reason for his Spanish friend's sudden appearance and waited patiently for an answer to the question he had not even spoken aloud. He didn't need to ask, because he was assured that answers would come to him without searching, and he didn't want to pry _too_ much in case it was a sensitive matter or something like it.

"Oh! I forgot to tell you why I'm here, didn't I?"

"Oui."

"Well, you were looking for a job, amigo?"

"...I am in need of some money. Why?"

Antonio's bright smile dimmed a little as he shifted on the couch and pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his coat pocket. He spent a few long minutes trying to unfold the sheet and flatten it out so it was readable, Francis raising an eyebrow inquiringly. Was the Spanish man offering him a job? He had been under the impression the optimistic brunette had been flitting around a few of his own; he'd been fired once for his indecisive nature and Francis had been forced to pick up the pieces.

"What is it, Toni?"

"Well, I know you're low on money, and whoever sent these adverts sent me two..."

"And...?"

"I want you to look after mi tomate," Antonio said, his words a little rushed.

Francis raised an eyebrow. "Your...tomato? Antonio, are you feeling well?"

"No, not a real tomato! That would be silly! I'm talking about Lovi!"

"That petite boy you used to babysit? You kept in contact?"

"Si! But...you see...I'm worried about him."

_"-Lovino's always been pretty...well, hard to talk to. But since his grandfather vanished, he's been going places. I don't know where he goes, but...I'm worried. I saw blood once!"_

Francis blinked. What the hell had that been?

"...he doesn't have many friends, and I was hoping if you and he worked together, you could befriend him? He's just so unsociable, and it's hard for me. And you're such a friendly person, how can he help but not want to be friends with you! You make friends with all those women when we go out to bars, too!"

Francis couldn't help the small curl of the lips at Antonio's last comment. The Spaniard's astonishing naivety was still present, even after many years. It was kind of sad, really. Especially when some poor woman would try to come on to him and he just bounced it back with his cheery expression. It was borderline incredible on some days, admittedly. But to tell the truth, he hadn't been to a bar in a long time. If he felt like a drink, he had a nice storage of wine in his desk, but that was it. Sobriety wasn't fun; but it was good.

"Well...fine, then. What time is the interview and where is it?"

Antonio looked away sheepishly. "It...was last night."

"...what?"

"It was last week, but I signed you up and told them I'd get you down there this week! I knew how busy you were with your bills and stuff, so I asked them and they told me they only had three applicants anyway, so that'd be fine!"

Francis dismissed the obvious lack of care Antonio seemed to have about his situation. The Spaniard was usually like this, so it was rather irrelevant anyway. He relaxed a little, resting his chin on one hand as he thought about it. It wasn't really a bad offer anyway, and he was certainly willing to do something as simple as that for an old friend.

"...Mon ami, you just want me to look after Lovino?"

"Si! That's it!"

"Then...I suppose I might be able to make it," Francis said with a faint smile. Antonio beamed back, and it was the sort of warm friendship that lightened your heart and brightened everything around it. Francis avoided that feeling crawling up his spine, the one that told him there was something off about this whole matter. Instead he glanced under the desk, looking thoughtful. He did have a few bottles to spare, and that eerie feeling might leave him after a drink.

"Care for a glass of wine, Toni?"

"Si! I don't see why not! We have a lot to catch up on!"

Looking back on it, Francis should have smelled a rat at the first sign of disturbance. But as these things usually go, he remained unsettled but mainly oblivious to the changes around him, of the new axis turning to world to its own pleasure. Life was like that.

But he'd find out soon enough.

**### ####**

**Translations ((Amazingly, there are some for this chapter!));**

**Amour- love (French) (pet name, like 'poppet' is in British)**

**Hola- hello/hey (Spanish)**

**Si- yes (Spanish)**

**Oui- yes (French)**

**Amigo- friend (Spanish)**

**Mi tomate- My tomato (Spanish)**

**Petit- little (French)**

**Mon ami- my friend (French)**

**Names;**

**Francis Bonnefoy- France**


End file.
